


I Always Get my Best Ideas From You, Brother of Mine

by westiebrown



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Major Character Death Before Beginning of Story, Merlin is a Holmes, Protective!Mycroft, Protective!Sherlock, Suicidal Thoughts, merlin whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westiebrown/pseuds/westiebrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has died and Merlin Holmes, the mastermind behind the entire Pendragon Empire is falling apart. His brothers are concerned for their smarter and younger brother, and will do anything to keep him safe.</p><p>And John... John is clueless about what is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wisp of Smoke

Sherlock’s hands were steepled against his forehead when John strolled into the flat whistling cheerfully. The groceries dangling casually out of his hand. He expected a snide remark, like ‘john, make me a cup of tea. I asked an hour ago.’ But silence was all that met his entrance into the flat. John hurriedly placed the bags on the table, silently grateful for the lack of dismembered objects on the table. “Sherlock?” he says quietly to the concentrating man. When he isn’t graced with a response, John strolls up to the table to peer at the papers strewn messily across it. Wondering if they had gotten another case. 

But the articles that papers were turned to detailed of a case that had been open and closed, an easy murder by all definitions. The CEO of Pendragon industries had been murdered, his uncle had confessed the next day. “Sherlock?” John asked again. “Did they miss something in the case?”

Sherlock’s hands slipped from his forehead and his face was cold and emotionless as he said, “I’m waiting. Mycroft will call sometime soon, especially since we haven’t heard from him.”

John peered at Sherlock, confused by what he was saying. “Who’s ‘him?’”

Sherlock waved his hand, dismissing the question as the phone began to ring. He grabbed it with the impatience of someone who was waiting to hear important news. The caller ID was as he predicted, “Mycroft. Have you heard from him?”

Mycroft’s reply was garbled, and John couldn’t quite discern what he had said. But he felt a wave of concern as Sherlock’s face twisted into something akin to worry. “You can’t find him!?” Sherlock shouted into the phone. 

This time Mycroft’s reply was as clear as day, “he knows the blind spots. He might listen to you, he always liked you the best.”

John was baffled by this turn of events. They were obviously looking for someone, someone who meant a lot to both brothers. And John for the life of him couldn’t think of whom they were talking about.

* * *

Sherlock looked at John, only now remembering that he had never mentioned Emrys to him before. In afterthought mentioning that his brother was responsible for the rise of the Pendragon empire could have been important.

“We need to go out John.” Sherlock said sharply, gathering his coat, and wrapping his scarf around his neck. But instead of sweeping out the door he ran to the kitchen to grab a tube of Jaffa cakes, and then continued out the door.

* * *

John stood next to the desk looking completely confused for a few seconds before he swept into action. Grabbing his glock and coat and trailed after Sherlock…


	2. Cheers

He wrote a list. It was the least he could for his brothers, Mycroft always said Sherlock made a list, so here he was slowly scratching down the contents and exact quantities of the containers laid down on the table before him.

His phone was in a bucket of water to his left, he didn’t want them to reach him.

His boyhood hideout always hidden, especially from his brothers' prying eyes.

He’d done this here before. Sherlock had come home happy, thinking back on it, it was the only time Sherlock seemed happy.

He had wanted to feel happy, so he tried it just that once, damn it had felt good. But then a nosy prat had stuck his nose and perfect hair into his life, a drug all to his own.

* * *

John caught up to Sherlock as he paced up and down the road gesticulating wildly as he yelled at someone through the phone. “YES, Lestrade there is a bloody ‘nother one, as you put it so frankly. Would you mind doing what I request, preferably as soon as possible. I can call Mycroft to sort you out if you don’t.”

John stood slack jawed at the immense display of emotion, and the fact that Sherlock had threatened to sic Mycroft on someone. But he was not given time to pause, as Sherlock, in a whirlwind of movement set off down the block.

* * * 

He had come to the place hoping to avoid his brothers, but he knew full well that he wanted to be found, whether it was too late for them or not. He had been too slow for Arthur, so he only hoped his brother’s would show him the same courtesy.

His hand slowly snaked out to the heavy bottle resting in front of him, and delicately poured it into a small glass, raising it he whispered a toast, “You prat.” 

And downed the glass in one go.

* * *  
Sherlock ran down the block, his mind spinning quickly as to where he could have been last. Barely noticing that John was huffing and puffing behind him. His only outside attention was devoted to the tall buildings he was now sprinting past, the faster he got there the better.

John now had pulled up equal beside Sherlock and shouted, “STOP!” 

Sherlock much to his own surprise paused his feet and looked at John, his ire and concern written on all across his face, cheekbones and all. 

John paused momentarily to catch his breath, “Where pray tell are we going?”

Sherlock quickly looked down at John and adopted his ‘you are such an idiot’ face, “The Pendragon House, of course.” 

He set his feet to continue his wild jog through the streets, but John held up a hand, the other skimming across the surface of his phone. He then shoved a picture of google maps in Sherlock’s face and proceeded to wave down a cab.

Sherlock crossed his arms and silently pouted, but got in the cab before John and quickly gave the cabbie instructions. John followed him in with a less dignified scowl marring his somewhat harmless features, and sat waiting for Sherlock to enlighten him as to…

* * *

John promptly lost his cool, “What the bloody hell is going on!” he shouted, channeling the pent up anger at Sherlock’s supercilious demeanor. He felt he ought to be told ‘what the bloody hell was going on’ because he was chasing Sherlock all over creation, with no reason given. Sherlock turned to him a serious look on his face, “Emrys is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been awhile, I hope I got the characters of John and Sherlock right. I don't have a beta reader so any suggestions or reviews as always are appreciated.
> 
> Kudos shall be rewarded with mental chocolate :)


	3. Frangipani

_“Emrys is missing.”_

     John’s forehead scrunched in confusion, his mind running over and over what Sherlock had said. After a while, John realized he had no idea who or what Emrys was, and resigned himself to being confused. He looked over at Sherlock with a vain hope that he would elaborate, but Sherlock’s face was crestfallen, his hands were drooping under his chin. John started, that was twice today Sherlock had shown true emotion, only this time he wasn’t even trying hide it. John was lost in confusion for the second time in two minutes, but was saved the pain of unscrambling the signals when the taxi pulled to a stop. The cabbie rolled back the plastic partitioner, “Pendragon House.”

     Sherlock shoved a 20 pound note through to the cabbie and said sharply, “Keep the change.”

* * *

     Sherlock had been raring to jump out of the cab before it even stopped moving, but common courtesy kept him planted into his seat. Also the fact that, he knew that a few seconds wouldn’t make a difference. But whatever semblance of common courtesy he had was dismissed as he grabbed John and pulled him out of the car onto the sidewalk. John stood transfixed staring at the beautiful architecture of Pendragon Manor as Sherlock raced toward the high arching oak door.

* * *

     John gaped, the house in front of him was an architectural masterpiece. But Sherlock, instead of commenting on some inane insult toward the occupants or designer, was in the door’s alcove frantically searching. He was checking all the nooks and crannies, but he didn’t stop until he lifted the doormat. John raced over and peered at what he held in his hand, it was a simple note that had one key attached and the words _“one of five, frangipani.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, I know where I am going it is just taking sometime, finals are happening so next update my take a few weeks. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Em is a Cinnamon Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am sososo sorry for not updating sooner. Honestly no excuses, I know my chapters are short and my characters are probably 2d, but ENJOY!

John furrowed his brow as he read the note over and over, “one of five, frangipani,” desperately trying to understand its meaning. But after a few minutes of doggedly going in circles he realised the clue was for Sherlock, meaning he would never be able to decipher in time. Upon this realisation John looked up and over to Sherlock, who was rapidly muttering under his breath, “shit, he wants to be found...shit...flower, FLOWER...spirits…”

John sighed, despite there being a huge problem Sherlock hadn’t gone to his mind palace, which to him meant that Sherlock was distracted. John leaned over and snatched the hastily written paper from Sherlock’s clenching and unclenching hands, and he quickly snapped a picture and sent it to Mycroft. This action granted him a brief text, _keep him calm_ -MH, and Sherlock receiving a phone call.

* * *

The golden contents of the bottle in front of him was slowly dwindling, but he wasn’t worried. With every toast to another failing brought another chalky pill down his throat and oblivion.

He wanted his body found, whether it still had warm blood or not. But in all honesty he hadn’t made it easy… because damn he missed Arthur.

Slowly he reached his hand out, lifting his heavy engagement pen and put a small affirmation next to an article on the list, while simultaneously allowing the last of the 1940 J. Wray & Nephew to slide down his throat.

* * *

Sherlock brought the phone to his ear, finding himself for the first time since Myc went to college wanting his insight. Mycroft of course wasted no time, “What have you figured out?” his voice also edged with a lot of worry for a man who dealt with brewing wars daily.

Sherlock responded in a dead voice, “ clearly the same thing as you… Frangipani is a flower that has many symbolic meanings the three that stand out the most are: connecting with spirits and ghosts, intense love and a lasting bond between two people, immortality and spiritual devotion spread over multiple lifetimes. Also Frangipani is the name of an esteemed roman family.” He took a deep breath, but before Mycroft could share his thoughts Sherlock continued, “So I deduce that we are looking for a graveyard connected to Arthur in some…”

Mycroft quickly butted in, “His location isn’t connected to arthur, that's just the reason. Em in true Em fashion wrote that specifically for me, to force us to work together over a common goal. The intense bond and lasting love between two people,is about the love of brothers. But it doesn’t have to do with Arthur, back when grandmother died he showed me a blog of the Top 5 London Cemeteries...”

* * *

John glanced at Sherlock, his discussion with Mycroft showed how much of a heathen he was compared to the Holmeses. They’d apparently taken a four word clue...and given it meaning.

He was abruptly brought out of his thoughts by Sherlock gesticulating wildly and saying into the phone, “roman...roman...WAIT, Brompton has been said to be designed with Greco-Roman design. And there are catacombs!” Then Sherlock without letting Mycroft get a word in edgewise terminated the call, and waved down a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, please give me tips and kudos you will be gifted an invisible llama ;) Take care of yourselves!


	5. night could be forever

It had begun raining while they had been huddled under the eaves of the building, and John only noticed when he observed Sherlock. He stood still as the cab pulled slowly closer his curls dampening, but that’s when John noticed Sherlock’s nervous tic. His hands from time to time flew up and carded through his hair, leaving it very dishevelled. Suddenly Sherlock moved and John noticed the cab had pulled up; the cabby leaning out impatiently. John scrambled up behind Sherlock as they both entered the forgiving heat and dryness of the interior. Before they got settled the cabby, who John had by this point labelled and rude, snapped, “boys! Where are you headed?”

Sherlock sighed shaking his hair out, then said curtly, “Brompton Cemetery.”

The cabby huffed, and pulled away from the kerb a sheet of road darkened water rose up as it accelerated. John glanced at Sherlock and saw him texting furiously. He had finally had enough and seized the phone from Sherlock’s hands and asked quietly but impatiently, “when are you going to tell me what is going on.”

Sherlock in response looked up from his phone and shut it down with a forceful click and said, “Emrys, My little brother...” 

John shook his head, and responded, “sorry what! Your little brother?” His mind was whirring with these possibilities.

“Yes John, my brother,” Sherlock said impatiently, “he was married to the late Arthur Pendragon, and essentially built the Pendragon Empire.”

John looked dazed for a few moments, “wait, are you telling me that there is another one, who created the largest corporation in Europe and is…sorry was married to The Arthur Pendragon!”

Sherlock turned back around to face John after becoming disinterested and peering out the window, “Yes John, that is what I just said.”

* * *

Sherlock impatiently tapped his foot, convinced that the cabby was being slow on purpose, just irk him. He knew what Emrys would do, and he knew it was mostly his fault. Mycroft had helped both but Em had gone to do better things, but Em still loved him more. Sherlock knew what Em would do because with flair and dramatics is as Sherlock had and would do. Therefore, the cause could only be one thing. Sherlock snapped out of his winding thoughts and snapped at the driver to: “hurry up.”

The cabby, almost as if he could feel the tension radiating off of the two men, and the brotherly love worriedly strafing against time stepped on the pedal without a remark.

* * * 

The list in front of him had begun to smudge, unrelenting hot tears pouring down his face. Another one of his shortcomings, his brothers were stoic and strong, and they protected those they love. They protected them. With this thought, he simply set his sights on another bottle and smudged another check onto the crumpled sheet of paper.

If someone had told him just a few months ago where he was, he may have laughed. Arthur was his rock-telling him that he was going to die…that would have sent him to the edge anyways. Only one person would always catch him, maybe they would catch him on his fall into the abyss. Maybe they would catch his disintegrating atoms and hold him in a hug one last time. Limbo where love can continue.

In front of him now were bottles half empty, and plastic containers empty. The shaking in his hand increased as he reached for the last one-the brand that promised a deep night sleep. The night was when the stars were out, maybe night can be forever. But his hand tremored and his muscles released the key to night everlasting onto the floor.

At this Merlin screamed, anguish and misery pouring out of his throat in a ululating cry. Then slumped to the floor, a smile gracing his features after his conscious thoughts ceased.


	6. futile searching and finding determination

The rain was slowing, only occasionally the cool drips would escape from the mass of clouds above. John watched those rare drops streak down the glass. Suddenly, Sherlock’s face was next to his, peering out the glass. His lips mouthing words that John couldn’t make out. He was clearly impatient if the glances out the window to monitor the pedestrian patterns and lights were any indication, seeing as they were a strong deviation from the unearthly stillness Sherlock often seemed to possess. Suddenly the cab calmly stopped and the cabby turned around and said, “I hope that wasn’t too slow, the weather is a might bit testy right now, and erm and the fare is 8 quid.” 

John shoved a bill at the man, losing his balance as Sherlock slammed his door hard enough to make the chasse tremble, and John quickly followed with a mumbled, “thanks and keep the change.”

Sherlock was standing at the gate, staring through it apprehensively. The pavement walkway darkened by the passing rain, and small monuments scattered along the edge sheltered under tall trees. He paused only for a moment once John had caught up to say, “well I suppose this is fitting,” and then continued walking.

John was not quite sure what they were looking for, but as soon as they passed under the gate Sherlock seemed to have an idea about where they were going and pressed their pace. The monuments looked bigger and more worn the further they continued on the U-shaped path. Sherlock began to slow as they reached the section with mounds of earth and the crypts with their ominous locked entrances.

* * *

Sherlock could feel a clock ticking down in his head, leading his brother to his doom. He knew that Em must be somewhere nearby, that he wouldn’t be on the dirt and was always complaining about the inefficiencies in the expense on monuments for irrelevant people, and then there was the fact that there were convenient catacombs here.

The crypts were scattered about in no particular order, but Sherlock knew that the entrance would be here. He spun around a few times taking in the surroundings but before he could formulate any kind of plan John grabbed his elbow and said, “What, are we looking for in this godforsaken graveyard?”

Sherlock didn’t register John’s voice immediately as his mind was working at a frantic rate to comprehend and categorize the information his eyes were taking in. The he said to John, “Merlin…probably in a crypt somewhere. Need to find which one.”

He quickly broke away from John’s grip to continue running around the crypts peering at the names and scrutinizing the ground for hints of recent activity. But the ground was covered in water from the previous rain and the names carried no significance. Sherlock nearly let out a yell of frustration, but bit his tongue before the outburst, and glanced around. His eyes lit upon John toeing the face of a crypt, a piece of plywood being lifted by his foot, “Sherlock” he called, “I found…”

Sherlock was already racing over, his damp coat snapping behind him in evidence of his haste. His mind was racing, scanning the crypt and all objects around it. The only thing that seemed out of place were the identifying stamped characters adorning it in aged blue ink. He took a step closer and realized what the symbols were. Letters and all they spelled was Sher.

* * *

John stood back as an anxious and scared Sherlock attempted to pry the board off of the original crypt service. Unfortunately, years of abuse to his muscles by little nutrition rendered him unable to get much leverage on the unwieldy thing. John shook his head worried what would happen if what was found on the other side was not favorable. But regardless, knelt down as well and together they ripped it off in one fell swoop.

The appearance of the dark gaping maw of an entrance filled them both with determination and hope that they may reach him in time. There was further evidence that Emrys was present, if the slight glow coming from the back of the tunnel was any indication.

Sherlock scrambled inside.

* * *

Merlin lay on the ground slumped, breaths coming fewer and far between. Drool coated his lips. But if you had seen him in the bed, he would simply look like a man getting the best night of sleep he had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a really fucking long time, my apologies. Also, thanks for over 3000 reads this is probably the most successful I will ever be in life. Hope everyone's schooling is going well, nothing like fanfiction to help you procrastinate. Thanks for reading:)


	7. consequences

The dark lay thick and heavy on Sherlock’s eyes as he peered desperately into the dark, both knowing what he might find and wishing for anything but. The sliver of light spreading from the crack in the board to the outside illuminated the surroundings enough so that he could find his phone and turn on the flashlight.

Sherlock registered the light as it refracted through the bottles strewn on the floor. Sending light spinning through the air in fractured patterns, in his mind, they also seemed to gather on a dark slumped form on the hard ground. Instead of rushing over to the shape, which he, of course, knew who or what it was. Instead, he calmly wandered over to the barrels and began deducting how long it had been, his eyes cool and clinical reverting back to his emotionless self by the shock of what had happened.

* * * 

John followed Sherlock into the dim chamber, reaching for his phone after Sherlock had lit it with preliminary light. His mind registered the bottles quickly but then he saw the shape on the floor. Glancing up to his companion, he expected Sherlock to run over to the man (boy?) whom he loved but Sherlock seemed set on something else. John rushed over to the still and calm form and placed to fingers on his jugular, and then he waited, searching. Thump, then a long pause, thum, stutter, thump. Sherlock was methodically sorting through the bottles when John looked up, but his practised eyes could see a frantic fluidity to normally controlled movements. “He’s alive,” John said quietly, attempting to assuage any deeply suppressed panic Sherlock was feeling.

All he got in response was a deeply shadowed nod from Sherlock and a curtly delivered order, “you must make him vomit.” 

John being a fairly excellent doctor had already, based on his surroundings gathered what had occurred and had by that time began lightly pressing the boy's stomach and trying carefully to trigger the gag reflex. The body not responding at all under his practised and trained fingers.

Then he heard a heavy thud, and Sherlock was curled up staring at something clenched white hard in his fists. His head shaking and… John was baffled, were those tears streaming down his face?

* * *

Sherlock had been cataloguing the alcohol contents and what percentage they were when he lifted one of the bottles and a pen rolled onto the floor. It had been resting on top of a stained and slightly damp piece of paper. Sherlock glanced over at the body John had pronounced alive (Sherlock had not missed the quiver of worry in his voice), he thought Em would leave a note and so he picked it up. But when he saw the scrawl and check marks across the fragile surface he collapsed.  
The note pointed fingers at him, his little brother had always looked up to him. Despite his terrible example, and Mycroft’s prodding in other directions he remained the idol. Now, now…that had culminated in this. 

* * *

John stared at this strange sight until he heard the whine of sirens above. He hoisted the limp body onto his shoulders and with shock realised that this man (boy?) was even lighter than Sherlock. He made it through the door without banging any limbs and rushed over to the screeching ambulance. 

Mycroft was soon at his side but gave up trying to help as the paramedics ignored his long nose. Instead, he turned to a now unoccupied John, "where is Sherlock?"

John gestured with a shake of his head back to the crypt, "Something set him off."

Then to John, only the second most surprising thing that happened was that Mycroft began to run! over to the crypt and ducked inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am quite possibly everything people hate in a fanfiction writer, sorry about the horrible updating schedule, writing quality, and short chapters. Hope everyone is happy because there's got to be at least a 1:1 ratio. 
> 
> Hope this didn't suck. Thanks for so many reads, this is the most accomplished I will ever be.  
> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


End file.
